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“There’s not a clear view to here.” Rembrandt was walking along the sidewalk, looking at the windows. “There’s too many trees and bushes in the way.”
The road was edged by a green space, lilac trees, and flowers in a bed and— “Rem—” Whoops. “Inspector Stone, look.” She pointed to a trampling of fallen lilac flowers, smudged into the ground. And in the crushed mess of them, a tread imprint.
She crouched, took a burst of shots.
“Great catch, Eve,” Rembrandt said and came over. “That’s about two steps from the edge of the road.” He walked over to the curb. “She might have gotten out here.”
Eve joined him, scanning the other side of the street. The two-lane side street wasn’t busy this time of day. The tattoo parlor across the street had just opened, the owner flipping over the paper sign. And next door, through the window of the workout studio, women were holding what looked like a warrior pose.
The air smelled of summer, bacon, and the scent of the lilacs, and she’d bet on a glorious day, with the high in the seventies. Tonight, she’d open the windows and paint her dining room wall.
Maybe talk her brother, Samson, into starting her deck.
“How is your house coming along?” Rembrandt asked.
What, could the man read her mind?
“Good. I’m nearly ready to paint the dining room.”
“What color?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Rembrandt was looking up the street, away from her. “She gets out of a car, here? Or maybe was walking down the sidewalk, although, that’s on the other side—”
“What if she ran across the street?”
“From the tattoo parlor?”
“Or…there.” She pointed to a clinic the next block down. “What if she was at the women’s clinic? It’s twenty-four hours.”
He was nodding. “Maybe someone picked her up. But why did she get out here?”
“Fear? Hurt?”
He wore an enigmatic expression in his eyes, something almost sad and it stilled her when he said, quietly. “Those are good reasons to run, I guess.”
Burke walked over, and Rembrandt turned to him. “We need to talk to someone at that clinic.” He pointed down the street.
Burke raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me.”
“It’s just—”
“A hunch?”
“Somewhere to start.”
Burke glanced at her father. “What about him?”
Inspector Mulligan was talking to Silas.
Rembrandt looked at Eve.
“It’s not my job to tell you guys what to do.”
The look he gave her was so probing, she should probably run.
She looked away, and down and— “Inspector.”
